Poetry Corner

moonlite said:

Ah John Clare -- wonderful nature poems!

I love the rath primroses pale brimstone primroses
That bloom in the thick wood and i' the green closes
I love the primroses whenever they come
Where the blue fly sits pensive & humble bees hum
The pale brimstone primroses come at the spring
Swept over and fann'd by the wild thrushes wing
Bow'd down to the leaf cover'd ground by the bees
Who sing their spring ballads thro bushes & trees

2

Like patches o' flame i' the Ivy so green
And dark green oak leaves where the Autumn has been
Put on thy straw hat love & russet stuff gown
And see the pale primroses grow up and down
The pale brimstone primroses wild wood primroses
Which maids i' the dark woods make into posies
Put on thy stuff gown love and off let us be
To seek brimstone primroses neath the Oak tree

3

Spring time is come love primroses bloom fair
The sun o' the morning shines in thy bright hair
The ancient wood shadows are bonny dark green
That throw out like giants the stovens between
While brimstone primroses like patches o' flame
Blaze through the dead leaves making Ivy look tame
I love the rath primrose in hedgerows & closes
Together lets wander to gather primroses —

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I’ve got a romantic notion that some of the bridleway and field tracks I ride local to me are where he may have wandered and been inspired to write. We’re just at the point where the flatlands of the fens start to turn in to small hills.

Less well known is that the writer Daniel Defoe was allegedly born in the next village. His uncle is certainly buried there.

CANADIAN AUTUMN TINTS.

We wandered off together,
We walked in dreamful ease,
In mellow autumn weather,
Past autumn-tinted trees;
The breath of soft September
Left fragrance in the air,
And well do I remember,
I thought you true as fair.

The maples' deep carnations,
The beeches' silv'ry sheen,
Hid nature's sad mutations,
And I forgot the green:
Forgot the green of summer,
The buds of early spring,
And gave the latest comer
My false heart's offering.

O painted autumn roses!
O dying autumn leaves!
Your beauty fades and closes,
That gaudy hue deceives:
Like clouds that gather golden
Around the setting sun,
Your glories are beholden
Just ere the day is done.

Or, like th' electric flushes
That fire Canadian skies,
Your bright and changeful blushes
In gold and crimson rise.
But health has long departed
From all that hectic glare;
And love sees, broken-hearted,
The fate that's pictured there.

The brush that paints so brightly
No mortal artist wields;
He touches all things lightly,
But sweeps the broadest fields.
The fairest flowers are chosen
To wither at his breath;
The hand is cold and frozen
That paints those hues of death.

We wandered back together,
With hearts but ill at ease,
In mellow autumn weather,
Past autumn-tinted trees;
The breath of soft September
Left fragrance in the air,
And well we both remember
The love that ended there.

-James David Edgar